


"My Father is Dying"

by JenniferNapier



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, One Shot, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2020-07-27 13:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20046757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferNapier/pseuds/JenniferNapier
Summary: A brief insight between cuts, taking place during Season 1 Episode 5: "Raid" of History Channels' "Vikings" by Michael Hirst. My first attempt at a Vikings fan fiction.





	"My Father is Dying"

**Author's Note:**

> This was an ancient drabble that I wrote on Fanfiction.net WAY back in 2013, now updated and re-uploaded to AO3.

Autumn was almost over, and the long days of Winter were fast approaching. Preparations had already been completed. The winter storage was well-stocked, there was plenty of firewood ready to keep the secluded hut warm under the burden of the cold snow, the small fishing boats were tied and secured to the docks out on the shore, and Ragnar was no longer the chieftain's prisoner, although the irritable old loon was still incredibly bitter towards the farmer and his crew.

Nonetheless, Floki didn’t expect a visitor for a long while.

Warmed by the steady pulsing of heat from the ignited fire pit, Floki searched through a basket of apples for the most appealing fruit, finding a ripe ruby-colored one at the bottom. He bit into it after taking in the scent of its skin, watching Helga craft one of her beautiful bracelets at the table. The twine which she wove came from one of the trees he’d used to make the ship. Nothing went to waste after a tree was felled. Even the glowing amber beads she strung once came from the resin of a tree.

“Do you like it?” Helga asked in her soft sweet voice, holding the semi-finished piece of jewelry up as he took another bite of his apple from over her shoulder. With a bobbing nod, Floki finished his bite and touched one of the amber beads with his knuckle, watching it swing loosely as it shined in the light of the fire nearby. “I’d like to add a carving to it.” She hinted, tilting her head back to grin up at him eagerly. “A wolf perhaps? Howling at the sky.” Her hobby of making jewelry partnered well  
with his woodworking skills, and she often requested for him to carve small charms to add on to her bracelets and necklaces. “I can do that.” He muttered neutrally, glad to have a reason to make another masterpiece out of the forest’s cherished remains, even if it was a small masterpiece. He went to the massive pile of firewood against the far wall of his home, searching for a small wedge to use for the wolf charm.

Twisting his free arm around to scratch his bare back, he took another mouthful of the juicy fruit in his hand before inspecting a small log of oak. Faint cries from outside grew from the quiet ambiance of the forest, heard by Helga but drowned out of Floki’s ears by the clattering of the wood pile he was digging through. Without a word, Helga curiously stood and left the cabin, unafraid of the unfamiliar voice. With a glance back as she opened the door, Floki stood up and followed her, puzzled and slightly wary.

“I must speak with Floki, is he here?”

Floki recognized the rushed voice before he saw who it belonged to, and this recognition only made his last few steps out the door even faster. The voice belonged to a familiar young boy, bewildered and afraid, breathing heavily as tears threatened to bud upon his sapphire blue eyes.

“Bjorn?”

“My father is dying.”

Shock instantly permeated through his veins, masking every thought and impulse. Through the impervious spell of the boy’s appalling news, only one thought resonated. _Ragnar_. Ragnar was dying. The slow serum of shock quickly mutated into flaming adrenaline. The apple fell from his hand and Floki started forward as Bjorn mirrored his awakening movement with a few stumbling steps backwards. “A-at the shore!” The young Lothbrok explained, breaking into a desperate run alongside his father’s friend, who quickly passed him. ‘_The shore_’ was all he needed to know. Floki propelled himself down the hill, all but throwing himself off the path. Bjorn followed after him as fast as his smaller legs could churn, stumbling as he too charged as fast as he could back towards his father.

Floki grabbed the trees to stabilize himself when the path narrowed, morphed, and twisted, scraping his hands against the rough bark as branches grabbed at his dark pants and scratched at his bare chest. He could see the water through the trees now, having surged two-thirds of the way down the path in half a minute. **_"Ragnar!"_** He bellowed, ignoring a nasty stumble as he made it to ocean level.

The clearing where the two men had worked on the ship together was before him, and at the end, bobbing upon the shallows of the shore, the rest of the Lothbrok family parted from their small boat. “Floki!” Latherga answered him with more relief than panic in her strong composed voice. The sight of the eccentric shipwright brought her inexplicable reassurance. Although Ragnar would refuse to decide between the two, Latherga trusted and valued Floki much more greatly than she trusted and valued her husband’s own brother, Rollo. She and the priest, Athelstan, each supported an unconscious and heavily-bleeding Ragnar from under his arms, making their way out of the shallows and onto the beach. “The Earl and his men attacked.” She explained shortly with a slightly exasperated breath as Floki jogged up to them. He took most of her husband’s weight as the woman dismissed Athelstan. “Get Gyda.” The former monk hesitated, but was quickly shoved out of the way as Floki immediately took his burden.

Being roughly parted from his master’s side, the priest backed away to retrieve Gyda from the boat, carrying her in his arms until they were upon shore, where he followed after the rest of the group with the Lothbrok daughter securely in one arm’s embrace, offering comfort to the traumatized girl. Bjorn stumbled down to the clearing, accomplishing the task of catching up to the shipwright, and now focusing on catching his breath as his dry throat burned. “Can you... help him... Floki!?” He managed to ask, rather angrily as a result of his fear. “Go with your sister.” Latherga ordered softly as the boy moved out of their path, relieving Floki from vocally answering the question he was already mentally asking himself.

They hauled Ragnar up the path to Floki’s cabin. Latherga tried her best to staunch the flow of blood from the deep wound of his left shoulder with her palm. Her blue dress stroked against the gash in her husband’s leg, picking up smear after smear of blood from his gaping wound with each footstep. Time seemed to drag on forever, but their steps were quick, well-placed, and strengthened by concern and determination. While ascending the slope, Floki lightly pressed his thumb into his friend’s limp wrist as he held Ragnar’s arm over the back of his neck. His pulse was dangerously faint, but it was clear that his unconscious body was still persistently fighting to live. With a brief glance at his friend’s face, Floki tightened his hold.

“I will do everything I can.” Latherga felt her heart wrench as the ship builder’s calm voice held the probability of impending failure. She glanced over at him after successfully avoiding a buried root in their path. “He will make it.” The shieldmaiden declared, doing her best to disguise the emotion choking in her throat. Floki would not make a promise he couldn't keep, and since any optimistic vocal response would seem as such, Floki simply answered her with a nod. But the nod was filled with purpose and agreement; a nod of certainty and conviction that Odin would not dare disregard. With a small sigh to calm herself, she picked up speed as the dark wooden roof of Floki’s home came into view.


End file.
